


Over-Hung

by tracy7307



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracy7307/pseuds/tracy7307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine and Lancelot have potential, and Merlin helps speed things along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over-Hung

**Author's Note:**

> Drunk boys! Schmoop! FROTTAGE!

**Title:** Over-Hung  
 **Author:** [](http://tracy7307.livejournal.com/profile)[**tracy7307**](http://tracy7307.livejournal.com/)  
 **Prompt(s) Used:** #6, #39 Gwaine/Merlin as best friends, #60 a hangover spent snuggled up against each other  
 **Pairing/Characters:** Gwaine/Lancelot, background Merlin/Arthur  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** 2,028  
 **Summary:** Gwaine and Lancelot have potential, and Merlin helps speed things along.  
 **Warnings/Content Notes:** Drunk boys! Schmoop! FROTTAGE!  
 **Author's Notes:** Thanks to [](http://rebeccaann08.livejournal.com/profile)[**rebeccaann08**](http://rebeccaann08.livejournal.com/) for the beta, to [](http://myashke.livejournal.com/profile)[**myashke**](http://myashke.livejournal.com/) for the title/cheerleading, and to [](http://accordingtomel.livejournal.com/profile)[**accordingtomel**](http://accordingtomel.livejournal.com/) for cheerleading :)  
 **Disclaimer:** The characters depicted belong to Shine and the BBC. No profit is being made.

  
Gwaine vowed to have Lancelot naked and begging for it by the night’s end; he was sure of it (at least the ale in his system told him so).

They’d been building up to this for weeks now as their friendship shifted toward intimacy. They shared talks that lasted well after the castle had fallen silent, laughing quietly, sharing secrets and trading barbs. Gwaine found comfort in the soft brown of Lancelot’s eyes, and his stomach never failed to clench at the sight of Lancelot’s shy smile. Gwaine reveled in the ease of his friend’s company. Lancelot’s honour made Gwaine aspire to be a better person.

Gwaine wanted Lance; he wanted to bed him, to hold him and make him laugh, to make him fall apart at Gwaine’s touch, and to fill him with love.

Which is why Gwaine suggested to the knights that after such an exhausting day of training, they all deserved some ale, and maybe his gaze had lingered on Lancelot while everyone nodded their agreement.

~*~

“Gwaine, listen.” Merlin nudged his friend’s arm, causing ale to slosh all over his hand. “That eye-fucking thing you’ve been doing to Lancelot all night? It’s not going to work on him. You need to change your approach, mate.”

“No one can resist this look,” Gwaine proclaimed with a cocked eyebrow, looking through his eyelashes at the object of his affection. The warm thrum of alcohol coursing through his body emboldened him. “It’s sexy as hell.”

Lancelot caught Gwaine’s gaze and smiled back. He raised his tankard in Gwaine’s direction, placed it to his lips and drained the contents with his head thrown back. Gwaine most certainly didn’t try to watch the bob of Lancelot’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, nor did he look at the drop of ale lingering on the corner of Lancelot’s mouth.

Merlin feigned a cough, turning his head and closing his eyes. It didn’t escape Gwaine’s attention that Merlin’s eyes turned molten gold through his eyelashes, and Lancelot’s tankard refilled itself magically. Gwaine cocked an eyebrow at Merlin. “Just trying to heighten your sexiness, my friend,” Merlin giggled, hiccupping, as the gold faded back into deep blue.

Gwaine’s chest filled with affection as he shoved Merlin’s shoulder, sending him into Arthur’s side. “Let me heighten _your_ sexiness as well. I think your prince requires your services tonight.”

“Gwaine!” Merlin hissed.

“Oi! Arthur!” Gwaine craned around Merlin to catch Arthur’s eyes. “I believe Merlin has some late-night chores tonight, does he not?”

Arthur looked at Merlin with a glazed-over gaze. “Yes,” he slurred, “yes yes yes. I could want your chores done tonight. I mean, I want you to service your chores. Service. Yes, Merlin. You should do that.”

“See, Merlin? He requires you to service him.” Gwaine stated, corner of his mouth pulled up into a grin.

“Yes, I do,” Arthur said, standing up and teetering a bit. “In fact, Merlinnnn, I think I need you to turn down my bed. Can you do that for me? Can you service my bed?” Arthur hiccupped. “I mean, turn it down?”

Merlin nodded dumbly, words escaping him.

Arthur held out his hand. “Let’s go then. Come, Merlin.”

Gwaine’s shoulders started shaking with the effort of withholding his laugh. “Yes, Merlin,” he added with a friendly shove at Merlin’s backside, sending him stumbling several steps towards Arthur, “do _come_.”

Laughter, hearty and drunken, sounded from the table as Arthur and Merlin walked out together.

~*~

An hour later, Gwaine’s shoulder was pressed up against Lancelot’s. The air was hot between them, and ale stained their breath as Lancelot finished telling Gwaine about the time in his teenage years when he’d caught his best friend doing inappropriate things to a melon.

“Lancelot,” Gwaine said, his hand finding its way to Lancelot’s knee, “I hardly took you for the type to tell such stories.”

Lancelot hesitated before covering Gwaine’s hand with his own, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t know if I’m the type, either.”

~*~

They laughed their way to Gwaine’s chambers, and when Gwaine slung his arm around Lancelot’s shoulders, Lancelot snaked his around Gwaine’s waist.

Gwaine’s stomach lurched nervously as he tugged Lancelot down into his bed, the fabric of Lancelot’s tunic coarse under his fingers.

The drunken amusement faded from Lancelot’s face as he settled down into the pillows with Gwaine perched on his elbow, looking down at him. He glanced away nervously. “So,” Lancelot said.

“So,” Gwaine replied as he boldly settled a hand on Lancelot’s chest. Gwaine mentally recited a speech where he blamed everything on the alcohol if Lancelot objected. Lancelot stilled, his expression neither encouraging nor discouraging. His eyes, glazed over with drunkenness, gave away nothing, but then Lancelot moved his hand up Gwaine’s arm, stopping on his shoulder. His fingers reached up to tousle Gwaine’s hair.

Slowly, Gwaine lowered himself to Lancelot, bending to press a kiss to the small patch of shoulder visible from his tunic. Lancelot ran his fingers through Gwaine’s hair, a gentle stroke as Gwaine kissed his way up to Lancelot’s neck. He smelled like musk, like the woods, like the fire they’d sat in front of that night. He smelled like sweat, and it was heady and arousing and too much as Lancelot’s stubble made Gwaine’s lips tingle.

The rise and fall of Lancelot’s chest steadied and slowed under Gwaine’s hand, and when Lancelot began snoring softly, Gwaine grinned. Exhaustion rolled over him, and the alcohol in his system won the battle against his arousal, pulling him down into a deep slumber.

~*~

The morning sunlight hit Gwaine’s eyes with the intensity of a thousand suns.

“Fuck,” he muttered, not sure where to focus first: feeling like he’d swallowed sand, the hammer and anvil in his brain, or the warm body that was underneath him.

Sod the first two.

“Need my arm back, Gwaine,” Lance said, and Gwaine lifted up a bit. Lance tugged his arm free and opened and closed his fist. “Ouch. Pins and needles.”

Gwaine covered his forehead with his hand. “Feels like pins and needles in my head, mate”

“Me too. I don’t even remember buying half of the ale that I ended up drinking. It’s like my tankard just refilled itself,” Lance said with a cocked eyebrow.

“Ha!” Gwaine laughed. “That’s just ridiculous.”

“Yeah, that’s just silly, isn’t it?” Lancelot asked with a knowing grin. “It’s like someone might have wanted me drunk.”

“Why would-” Gwaine began, and Lancelot slid his leg along Gwaine’s. Suddenly Gwaine was speechless and his breeches too tight.

The sunlight streamed through the window, and Lancelot squinted against it. Gwaine leaned down to kiss his temple, because Lancelot’s leg was sliding between his, and fuck, this was what he wanted. He kissed the salt-tinged skin at the corner of Lance’s eye, and one hand carding through Lance’s freshly-cut hair.

Outside a child outside yelled for his friend to catch up, and a servant began beating a rug with a stick while Gwaine’s lips moved from the corner of Lancelot’s eye to his lips, so chapped and dry from lack of water, much like his own. Lancelot’s lips returned the pressure of Gwaine’s, kissing twice, three times, close-lipped, before Gwaine pulled back to reach over for the water goblet. He pressed the goblet first to Lance’s mouth, and he drank deeply, then Gwaine pulled the goblet to his own lips, the water quenching the dry desert inside of his mouth.

A drop lingered on Lance’s bottom lip, and Gwaine bent quickly to kiss it away. Lance’s tongue followed its trail into Gwaine’s mouth, sliding alongside Gwaine’s lazily, a slow stroke, slow like the languid movements of a fully-armoured knight on a hot summer day, aching with withdrawal and with need for each other.

A bird twittered in the windowsill when Gwaine began sucking on Lanelot’s tongue, his hand sliding boldly to the bulge in Lance’s breeches, rubbing and Lance arched up off of the bed, frotting against the pressure.

Gwaine felt Lance’s moan, low and deep, reverberating from the back of his throat straight into Gwaine’s mouth. “Fuck,” Lance panted when Gwaine pulled off wetly, a trail of spittle still connecting their mouths, and he rubbed his cock desperately against Gwaine’s hand.

“Shh,” Gwaine removed his hand, holding down Lance’s hips to the bed as he moved and nudged Lance’s knees apart, settling between them. “I’ve got you.”

Lancelot’s legs wrapped around the small of Gwaine’s back, sweat collecting there, making his tunic cling all up and down his back. Pulled down by Lancelot’s legs, Gwaine began pumping his hips down, leaning in for a sloppy kiss which played second string to how he was fucking Lance into the bed. They were fully clothed; Gwaine was loving the friction along his cock, caught between a desperate desire for pressure and the want of more skin.

Lancelot slid his legs down, stilling Gwaine’s hips with one hand. The children’s voices had faded, and the servant outside was muttering, pulling the rug down with a curse, and the bird’s song retreated to another location. The only sounds that filled the room were their own heated breaths, as heavy as the indecision hanging between them.

Gwaine slowed down. Pressed his forehead to Lance’s. So much honour lay beneath him; so much that is good contained in the man whose legs Gwaine was laying between. “Okay?” he asked finally, his fingers gently tugging at the laces of Lance’s breeches. “Is this okay?” he repeated.

Lance’s breath fanned over Gwaine’s chin, his features more set as he pumped his hips into Gwaine’s hand. “Yes. Okay.”

Gwaine’s heartbeat sped up as his hand worked the laces, loosening and tugging down at the breeches, all fumbling hands. With a nervous laugh, Lance did the same to Gwaine. Horse hooves clamoured outside while they struggled with breeches and tunics and belts, flushed skin exposed clumsily with every discarded article of clothing.

Lance was naked and hard, and Gwaine kissed him, pushing him back down to the bed. Lancelot wrapped his legs around Gwaine’s back again, hips rolling, sliding his cock against Gwaine’s. Snaking a hand between them, he took both their cocks in his fist, pumping them while they fucked into the circle. Gwaine tried for a sloppy kiss, nearly forgetting Lance’s mouth as Lance had wrapped his own hands around their cocks, the added pressure making Gwaine frantic.

He began pressing kisses all over Lance: his face, his cheek, the stubble of his neck before burying his face there, panting as he rolled against Lance, so hard against him. Gwaine fucked and fucked and _fucked_ into their fists, Lance no longer able to follow the rhythm, and Gwaine couldn’t take it anymore, shaking silently as he came over their hands and up Lancelot’s stomach, shooting come with every shudder.

Lance tensed underneath Gwaine, using Gwaine’s release to pick up the pace, to ease the slide of his fist along his shaft, foreskin pulling back with each downward stroke, and with just a few pulls Lance came, the fingers of his other hand digging into Gwaine’s bicep, teeth biting into his lower lip as he shook.

Gwaine collapsed on Lancelot. It wasn’t terribly romantic, nor was it smooth with the mess between them, but exhaustion won this battle and he couldn’t be arsed to care about the drying come.

Instead his thoughts turned to Lance. It was Lance’s heartbeat returning to normal, the dark brown birthmark on his left hip, the way his fingers traced Gwaine’s bicep.

“You got me drunk, didn’t you?” Lancelot asked with fondness.

“Yes,” Gwaine murmured into Lancelot’s shoulder.

“It was Merlin’s magic, wasn’t it, which refilled my tankard?”

“Mmmhmm.”

Lancelot turned this head, speaking softly against Gwaine’s temple, brushing back his hair from his ear. “And did you get what you wanted?”

Something caught in Gwaine’s throat, and he swallowed. His hand came to rest on Lance’s chest - on his heart. “Not yet. I don’t think so.”

Lancelot’s hand covered Gwaine’s. “You have it,” he replied, his lips against Gwaine’s forehead. “It’s all yours.”

The bird landed on the windowsill again, its twitter filling the room.


End file.
